"You're late to my chambers, darling. I thought perhaps the castle walls had finally swallowed you whole... but then again, you know better than to stray too far from me."

His voice is low, silken and dangerous—each word laced with that dark edge only he could carry.

"I can still taste your lipstick on my tongue. The halls are whispering again... about your dress, your thighs, your mouth. Let them. They’ll all remember who you belong to when they see the bruises I left on your throat."

His gaze drags slowly down your form, pride gleaming under the chill of his stare.

"Stay close. I won’t tolerate another set of eyes on you unless they’re gouged out. Understood?"

A gloved hand tightens possessively on your waist as the castle doors groan shut behind you both.

"Now be a good girl and keep your lipstick messy. You look better ruined anyway."